Double Down by Gabra Zackman Page A

what she’s up to now and there was this little side article about underground prostitution rings and about how many of them were in the D.C. area, right under the noses of the most prominent politicians. So I sent out some feelers and this is what I got.”
    Now Jackson leaned back with a smile on his face and folded his hands behind his head. “What did I tell you, Bossman? My girl’s got mad skills.”
    â€œShe certainly does,” the Boss replied. “Even so, this is a strange one. But look at it as a palate cleanser.”
    â€œAn amuse-bouche?” Susannah said with a wink.
    â€œExactly. So Jackson and I are going to attend this racket—it’s men only—and Legs and Lisa Bee will take the van and do some recon nearby. It’s apparently an eight p.m. show. We’ll check it out and report back. Sound good?” Everyone agreed and began to get to their feet. “Legs, any word from Chas?”
    The smile on Susannah’s face quickly faded. “No, Bossman. Apparently he’s not supposed to contact me until after he’s met with Birdsong. I get it, but I don’t like it.”
    â€œHe’ll be okay, Susannah,” the Boss said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If anyone’s got mad skills , it’s Chas. It’ll turn out all right. I promise.”
    â€¡â€¡â€¡
    Chas had landed in Palermo in the afternoon and had checked in to his hotel. He had wanted to meet Birdsong as soon as possible, but Birdsong said he was unavailable until later on. Things kept getting pushed back until it was now midnight and he was on his way to what he figured was a local café. Birdsong had sent a cryptic text about where to meet in coordinates: LAT 38.13, LONG 13.37 . Chas was perplexed by this and thought an address would have been easier, especially since the text gave only part of the numeric code for latitude and longitude and was therefore terrifically unspecific. But one could rarely understand Birdsong’s ways. He was a master of illusion: His status as a former pro soccer player gave him a perfect cover for why he traveled, where his money came from, and how he’d met a number of his contacts. Was it possible, Chas wondered, that this man was Baba Samka? Yes, sadly, anything was possible at this point. Chas just hoped it wasn’t the case.
    He arrived at the location to find himself on a wharf at the port of Palermo that extended into the water in front of him. Bizarre. Had he gotten it wrong? Within minutes, however, he saw Birdsong at the wheel of an approaching yacht. In the moonlight he could see the man’s trademark curly blond hair and eerie light blue eyes, and the smile on his face.
    Birdsong raised a hand and waved, pulled the boat up to the dock, and came out to meet Chas, extending his hand. “Hello, Chas. Always good to see you,” he said in his slight South African accent.
    Chas shook his hand. “Thanks, Birdsong. I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me.”
    â€œShall we take a ride?” Birdsong asked, inhaling deeply and smiling his customary bright smile. “It’s a beautiful night.”
    â€œI’d rather we just chatted here,” Chas replied evenly.
    â€œWell, I have some food in the fridge, and a fine wine. Easy enough for us to talk on board.”
    â€œHow about we stay here, if it’s all the same to you.”
    â€œIt’s my only offer, Chas,” Birdsong said, his smile gone and a severe look in its place. “Since you’ve asked me to help you, and the FBI as well, I suggest you do what I ask.”
    Chas didn’t think Birdsong would kill him here in Palermo—it seemed too obvious. And the FBI certainly knew his whereabouts; they were monitoring his phone for all calls and texts and had implanted it with a tracking device. But still he felt uneasy. He had his gun, his phone, and his wallet on him, but not much else. He didn’t like this at